Epitaph
My grey cat is not grey
-she is brown
not only is she brown
but she is dead.
I put her out yesterday
her Eskimo on the ice -
because she ate too much
and drank too much water
compulsively -and slept too much
because she was 20 years old
and cute no more and
-because she was old.
She pee'd indiscriminately and
crapped only somewhat less so
(because ass-motion in in the act
gave me time to [hee-hee] 'nip it in the bud').
She was skin and bones, and creaked
when she walked, leaving flea
nits and shit extrusions -scientist I am,
checked them both under the glass.
Her hearing was gone
that too, human with age
but I'd call her to sit with me
(I really did like her) and she'd
purr back the years to kittenhood
to young rejuvenated claws
-kneading bread.
(Oh, this story does go on, but
it's not the cat we're talking about.)
I kept her young beyond her years -
when her body wanted the dark
consolation of her bed
I'd put her out -not in the cold
but in the freshening brisk of Winter
(10 minutes) to raise her hair
and make her senses work -and
they did what she'd forgotten -
ears forward -nose rhythmic
eyes re-sharpened night-piercing tools.
And daylight -
whiskers radiant -
God, she loved that Sunshine!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have writ my epitaph in these lines
-a thousand times.
